January 4, 1981
PHEWW....
I blew my warm breath onto a foggy window in the corner of a small apartment in the outskirts of Brooklyn, millions of miles away from my home in heaven. Everyone I knew called me Michael. I was a guardian angel. I myself had forgotten how old I was now.
I couldn't see my reflection in a mirror or on the surface of water, but I could guess that I was a 28-year-old man with curly black hair and fair skin.
*
Riiinggg...!
I still vividly remember the sound of my bicycle bell on that bright morning as I pedaled the two-wheeled vehicle through the streets of a small town in New Jersey. At 15 years old, I absolutely loved my job as a milk delivery boy. My father was just a corn farmer in our small town, while my mother worked part-time as a factory worker in a ready-to-eat food packaging plant, earning very little. I decided to temporarily stop school until my father had enough savings to send me, as our fields had just been ravaged by a rat infestation.
“Michael, catch this!” shouted Mr. Jackson, the fruit shop owner at the end of Hallway 5th Street, who usually threw me a fresh apple for breakfast while I worked.
Suddenly, there was a roaring sound like the horn of a garbage truck that sped past on my right side.
CRASH! The front of the truck hit my body and my bicycle in a matter of seconds. The atmosphere suddenly fell silent.
*
Suddenly, I was in a room, sitting in the corner, watching my father, mother, and sister mourn a boy lying on the bed.
A soft voice broke the sorrow.
“Father loves you very much, Michael,” Father whispered into the boy's ear, sobbing, accompanied by the mournful cries of my mother and Megan, my only sister.
Heavy footsteps entered the room, and an old man in a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck said,
“Mr. Gregs, I'm sorry, we've tried our best, but it was beyond our capabilities. The severe blow to the right side of his head caused massive bleeding. We offer our deepest condolences,” the old man said to Father.
Instantly, I saw a vertical light in front of me with a hoarse voice half-whispering to me,
“Michael, it's time to go. Come on, don't waste your time. There's another job you need to do,” the hoarse voice continued. I recoiled with a gesture of refusal, but the light grew stronger, pulling against my gravity.
January 6, 1981
My reverie was broken when a little girl entered the bedroom in this apartment.
'”Michael, are you here?” Mia Davis asked me.
“Yes, I'm on your bed,” I replied calmly.
“I want to introduce you to my new violin teacher. She's very beautiful and very kind to me,” Mia told me on that cold afternoon.
“Hahaha…, how is that possible? She can't see me,” I retorted with a chuckle.
“She can't see because she's blind. Her name is Jennifer Russell, but I usually call her Jenn. She's only 22 years old and lives with her grandmother at the end of my street. Jenn is very good at playing the violin. Plus, her voice is so melodious, you'll definitely like her,” Mia said, and I just smiled faintly at the expression on the six-year-old girl's face.
It's not easy being a guardian angel for humans. God assigned me to be a friend to young children. Our duties usually ended when the child reached adolescence.
I had been with Mia since she was born. Mia was a bright child and lived with her mother here. Mia's father was an alcoholic and often beat Mia and her mother. Eventually, her father was arrested by the authorities for assaulting his child and wife. But I believe they are both much happier now.
My gaze was fixed as I watched the tall, slender girl enter this place. Her cane tapped with every step she took. Her face glowed like the sunrise over Santa Monica Beach. Her straight, shoulder-length brown hair shimmered under the dim light.
Even though her eyes couldn't see, their shape was perfectly almond-like with long, curled lashes that fluttered every time she blinked. Now I truly believed what Mia had told me a while ago, because I had just seen a real angel.
I had never known what it felt like to fall in love or admire something, which humans commonly experienced. Perhaps this is what it feels like when chemical reactions occur when you like your partner.
“Alright, Mia, I'm going to play a little song on this violin, and feel every note permeate your soul,” Jenn whispered to Mia before she began to play her violin.
Oh, God, the sound of that violin playing was so beautiful, and perhaps its melody could summon all the angels in heaven. I savored every stroke of the violin from Jenn's delicate hands, as if I didn't want her to leave my side. I sat beside Mia, and of course, no one saw my form here except Mia herself. Unconsciously, my behavior became strange and awkward when my eyes met Jenn's. How foolish of me, since Jenn couldn't see me anyway, why did I have to act like someone else at that moment?
February 12, 1981
That was my first meeting with Jenn. Since then, I was always wherever Jenn was. So much so that I neglected my duties as a guardian angel. That afternoon, I saw the sun blazing down on a street corner in this small town in South Brooklyn. Jenn was seen walking along the sidewalk towards the place where she usually taught vocal lessons.
“Good afternoon, Martha,” Jenn greeted the street sweeper named Martha.
“Good afternoon to you too. Look at you, you look so beautiful today, Jenn,” the dark-skinned woman said, accompanied by Jenn's sincere smile of thanks.
That girl was truly amazing; even without sight, she could perceive her surroundings well because her intuition was incredibly sharp. Jenn was also known as a beautiful and friendly girl in her neighborhood. This girl was very independent.
Jenn had glaucoma since she was 2 years old. Her father and mother had already divorced while she was still in her mother's womb. Due to severe bleeding, Jenn's mother passed away when she was born. It was her grandmother who, to this day, raised Jenn with full love and affection.
*
Creak.... The door opened.
“Jenn, dear, you're home, it seems. How was your work today?” her grandmother asked, pouring warm tea into a cup as Jenn just arrived home.
“I'm happy because I'm going to be promoted by the principal to be the new art teacher,” Jenn said with a cheerful smile, which was met with a warm hug from her grandmother.
They both lived in a small apartment where the rent probably didn't exceed 100 dollars a month.
April 18, 1981
Today was my big day. I intended to meet God because there was something I needed to discuss. I wanted to ask God for something, for my one and only wish to be granted.
CRASH...! I pushed open the large golden door leading to a bright, grand, and magnificent room. This palace was God's abode.
Slowly, I spoke.
“Good morning, my Lord,” I said with certainty.
“Yes, what is it, Michael?” God asked me. “I already know the purpose of your visit here, Michael,” He added.
“I want to become a human so I can be with the girl I adore,” I pleaded with God.
“Very well, I will grant your wish, but there is one thing you must obey, Michael,” God said. “You will never be able to be an angel again once you become a human. Remember, you also cannot defy my destiny,” God told me.
“Yes, I will do anything as long as I can love her, even if I have to feel the pain of bleeding just like any other human,” I said loudly, unable to hide my happiness.
*
My head felt heavy when I opened my eyes. I was startled to find myself on a messy bed inside a dilapidated and old caravan. I got up and went to a mirror in the cramped and smelly bathroom in the corner of the room. There appeared a handsome man with curly black hair, brownish eyes, and pale white skin like a baby's. Yes, this was me, and shouting with joy, I danced like a child throughout that bright morning.
“Woohoo…!” I shouted, making the birds perched on the caravan fly away.
April 20, 1981
All the way, I kept singing. My steps confidently traced Lincoln 27th Avenue. This was the only road leading to where Jenn worked at a music school in this small town in South Brooklyn. From across the street, I saw Jenn entering a cafeteria for lunch. I thought hard about how to start a conversation, especially with someone I adored.
Jenn carried her tray to a table in the corner of the cafeteria. Walking behind her, I began to say something as the beautiful girl settled into a chair.
“Excuse me, may I sit here? I didn't realize so many people were hungry this afternoon,” I said, half-jokingly.
“Oh, yes, please do, and it seems I am sitting alone,” Jenn replied to me.
Yes, that was our first introduction, and I would never forget that day. From then on, we started meeting frequently, and Jenn even introduced me to Jemima Russell, her beloved grandmother.
*
“Please have a seat, Michael. I am indeed in need of a guard for the Brooklyn City Zoo. My assistant will provide you with a uniform, identification, and everything you need. Congratulations, and you can start working tomorrow,” said Mr. Robb Keith, the chief supervisor of the only zoo in Brooklyn.
I was determined to work hard to make Jenn happy. I lived each day with great enthusiasm. Almost all visitors, children, and colleagues liked me because I was known to be friendly, warm, and had a sense of humor that was quite entertaining to them.
Two months of work passed quickly, and it was time for me to receive my wages for the month. With a touching feeling, I entered a jewelry store to buy a ring for Jenn. I didn't forget to stop by a flower shop at the end of the street across from Jenn's apartment. That night was truly special because it was the night I proposed to the love of my life.
We arrived at a city park after dinner. Under the light drizzle, I proposed to Jenn.
“Jenn, nothing can make me happier than you. Will you marry me?” I asked Jenn.
I still remember the happy tears flowing down Jenn's cheeks then, followed by her nod of agreement.
June 2, 1982
And here we were, celebrating our honeymoon. No, not on a gondola cruising the canals of Venice in Italy or in front of the Taj Mahal in India. We were just hugging each other on the sofa in our small living room. I loved Jenn with all my heart, and it seemed the whole world knew it.
“Michael, I'm so happy that God brought us together,” Jenn whispered, followed by her tender kiss landing on my forehead that night, a year after our wedding.
Jenn was pregnant with our baby. Even though her pregnancy was only 2 weeks along, I couldn't wait to welcome a child into our little palace. What made me most proud was that I married a very independent woman. Jenn always objected if I wanted to drop her off or pick her up from work. She insisted and preferred to go to work by bus every day.
That morning, the air felt colder than usual. The sky was overcast, and Jenn was getting ready to go to school to teach. With her cane as her guide, Jenn half-ran towards the bus stop not far from the city park near our home. After a short wait, the bus heading downtown arrived. The bus door opened automatically, and Jenn stepped up to the passenger seats.
Suddenly, the bus driver said to Jenn,
“Wow, you are the luckiest woman I've ever known, Miss,” the driver said loudly.
“Why do you say that, Sir?'” Jenn asked the bald driver.
“I always see a handsome and dashing man with jet-black hair and his distinctive smile walking behind you, as if guarding and watching over you. Every morning I see that man behind you, and he never forgets to blow a kiss from his palm to you when you board this bus. Oh yes, and of course, in the evening when you come home, I always see that man waiting for you to get off this bus, almost every day,” the driver continued.
Immediately, warm tears slowly fell from Jenn's eyes, and she realized that I truly was her guardian angel.
That night we spent cooking our dinner together. The roar of car engines and the laughter of teenagers driving their fathers' cars while speeding could be heard. That atmosphere was often heard in our neighborhood and frequently caused disturbances.
After eating, Jenn excused herself to go outside to throw out the trash while I washed the dishes to the accompaniment of The Beatles' music.
Not long after, I heard the sound of gunshots in the yard.
Bang, bang...!
The sound was heard again. I panicked and immediately ran to see what had happened. My body went limp seeing Jenn collapsed on the ground, covered in blood, right on her side. I ran towards her, shouting her name, trying to provide help.
Unconsciously, I screamed loudly,
“Jenn! Everyone, help me!”
I saw Mr. Dave Gynes, my neighbor, come out of his house with his wife to help me take us to the hospital.
*
Here I sat, in the waiting room of the Emergency Department of Brooklyn Memorial Hospital. A woman in surgical scrubs with a cap and mask approached me.
“Excuse me, are you Mr. Michael?” she asked me.
I could only nod.
“We are deeply sorry. We couldn't save your wife and baby…,” the doctor said to me, faltering.
I ran into the operating room with heart-wrenching sobs. I hugged my Jenn for the last time, whispering words of love into her ear.
From the subsequent police investigation, I learned that the shooting was carried out by teenagers driving a car who had previously bought firearms illegally. Even though they had been successfully apprehended, they still couldn't bring Jenn back to me.
In the room, after the funeral, I sobbed, looking at our collection of photos that Jenn had never seen. I spent the night with hard liquor, trying to erase the sadness, even though I truly hated alcohol.
October 8, 1982
Now I spent my days as a human and a lonely man. I had long closed my heart to other women. I learned to play the violin and worked as a street violinist in the Boston Subway District, moving far away from all the memories of my life.
I was forced to sell my house and move to another city, living in a cheap and small rented flat on the outskirts of Boston. I once tried to commit suicide, but I remembered God's message: that if I ended my life outside of His destiny, I would never be able to meet Jenn again in heaven, forever.
So, here I am, spending the rest of my life, who knows for how long. I learned that sometimes we have to bleed before we can feel happiness. If you hear the soft strains of a violin at night, perhaps it is the sound of my violin, hinting at the deep sorrow in my heart.
***
Editor: Putri Istiqomah Priyatna
Author: Hendro Utomo
This 32-year-old author has a straightforward and descriptive writing style. Despite being visually impaired, the author deeply loves the world of writing and literature. Let's befriend this author, who once worked as a managing editor and journalist, on Facebook, under the name: hendro.utomo1.